


it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah

by thedarknesswithin (babylxxrry)



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Pining, also tyler's really not in this, not necessarily a happy ending but it's not a sad ending, overuse of the word Home bc i'm larry trash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 10:36:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8369050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babylxxrry/pseuds/thedarknesswithin
Summary: sometimes i wish we could go back to how we were before. i miss that. 
 [or the one where troye misses home more than he likes to think]





	

**Author's Note:**

> first tronnor fic. it's short and kind of crappy bc i had an idea and i wrote it in one day with no editing ay  
> title from ptx's hallelujah

Troye sighs as he comes off another stage in another city in another country somewhere in Europe. It’d been a good show, for sure, but he can barely remember where he is right now.

 _Germany_ , his brain reminds him gently.

Right, Germany. He’s in Germany, and while he loves it just as much as all the other places he’s performed, he doesn’t want to be here right now. He wants to be back home, but not home as in Australia. He wants to be _Home_. He thinks his Home is in LA, but he doesn’t know for sure, because the last time he was there, things had happened and he’d had to leave for the second leg of tour before those things could be resolved.

He misses Home.

In the hotel that night, he lies wide-eyed and sleepless, curled on his side with a pillow in his arms. He misses the normal warmth even though it’s already a couple months into this leg of the tour. Actually, it’s been longer than that. It’s really been since before the tour itself started, because when things happened during the break, he was still alone in their shared bed.

Troye gives up on any attempt at sleep and turns the light on, fumbling for his journal. Most of the things in there never see the light of day, but sometimes when he’s in these moods, he gets good lyrics to be eventually polished up. He sits up, tilting his head back against the backboard and feeling so, so small in the big bed.

_sometimes i wish we could go back to ~~the old days~~ how we were before. i miss that. _

Troye hates where this is going, but he knows himself. If he’s going to be in one of these moods, he has to let it out or he’ll cry. He keeps his gaze carefully away from his phone where it sits silent and still, taunting him with its lack of notifications.

_none of the hiding and stolen kisses. none of the ~~judging stares~~ judgement. none of the hate. but then i realize that if we were the way we were before, we wouldn’t have each other like we do now. that alone gives me the ~~incentive~~ strength to go on with my head held high and i am confident that someday, one day, the world will know_

And Troye doesn’t realize it, but he’s crying, and he wants to add something but he doesn’t know what.

_that you are mine and i am yours._

He slams the journal shut and yanks his phone from its charging cord. It takes a few tries with shaking hands and blurry eyes to find the contact he’s looking for, but when he does, he taps on the call icon without a second thought. He only regrets it when it rings and rings and no one picks up. It goes to voicemail and the cheery “Hi! You’ve reached-”

Troye pulls the phone away and ends the call before the familiar voice can get any farther into his head. It shouldn’t be that late over there- just nine hours behind. It’s three in the morning here, which means that it’s sometime late afternoon there. There’s no reason the call would go to voicemail unless its owner was actively avoiding him.

He doesn’t know what hurts more- that fact that no one picked up or that he was even stupid enough to try in the first place.

He powers the phone off all the way and turns back to his journal. There had been something earlier that day that he’d wanted to write, and it’s coming back to him now.

_there’s noisenoisenoise all around me_

_but all i can feel is empty_

_all i can feel is the weak fluttering pulse in my chest that is the only evidence i’m still here_

_and all i want is quiet_

_and someone_

_someone to ask me if i’m really as okay as i say i am_

_(you)_

_for someone who understands that sometimes i need space and sometimes i need to be grounded and sometimes i just need to not feel for a while_

_(it’s you, but you’re not here)_

_but someone like that is hard to come by and so i watch the people around me talk and laugh and love and feel happy and sad and all the feelings in between_

_but all i can feel is the weak fluttering pulse in my chest that is the only evidence i’m still here._

This one’s not going to make it into a song, but he wants it here for later reference.

It’s hard. It’s really goddamn hard being away from home, both his physical home and his emotional home, and he can’t help the way his whole body is shaking with the force of his tears, and he really just wishes he could be held in a familiar hug, because even with a sweater and the hotel’s thick duvet on, he’s so cold.

It hurts his chest when he thinks about how he left for tour the second time. There’d been an argument about something so trivial. He remembers harsh words and slammed doors and _god_ , the tears. He remembers a quick hug goodbye, not the long one he’d so desperately craved. He remembers a “bye, Troye, we’ll talk sometime.”

That’s not how they used to do it.

It used to be “I love you, Troye, I’ll miss you. Text me when you get on the plane and when you land, okay?”

Troye wonders where he went wrong, where he made the mistake that drove a wedge between them.

He doesn’t even know what the wedge is at this point.

-

Troye doesn’t remember when he fell asleep, but he wakes up with a headache and he has a flight today. He doesn’t really have much to pack- just his hygiene items and a few small things. He’s kind of developed a habit to not unpack much since he’s in and out of hotels so much.

He turns his phone on while he goes to brush his teeth. It takes it a few minutes to boot up and load all of the things he received overnight, but when it does, he’s got fifteen texts, three missed calls, and countless social media notifications.

The texts are mostly from his management reminding him that he has a flight today. One is from his mum telling him she loves him, which he replies with a “love you too,” two are from his makeup artist asking him to please for the love of god leave time for her to do his makeup properly for tonight’s show, to which he replies “ahhhhh i will sorry i forgot yesterday”, and one is from Tyler. Tyler’s is cryptic as fuck, just a simple “what happened”. Troye replies a “what” and goes to finish packing.

He checks his calls next, and he has a voicemail from his management, and two missed calls from Tyler. The voicemail is just a reminder for his flight, which he ignores in favor of calling Tyler. It’s about midnight over there, which means Tyler is in his prime online time.

Tyler picks up in barely one ring. “Hi Troye!”

“Tyler.”

“Okay, so spill. Tell me what’s up.”

“What’s up with what?” Troye asks with a sigh. He knows what Tyler wants to know, but he’s not going to be the first to bring it up.

“Damnit, Troye, you know as well as I do what I’m talking about.”

“I called last night and it went to voicemail. There was no call back this morning.”

“I got a call about ten minutes ago, and I’m basically one-hundred-percent sure it was about you. When’s your flight?”

Troye thinks over his itinerary in his head. “I’ve got two hours before I need to be anywhere.”

“Good, because you’re going to do something for me,” Tyler says, commanding but kind.

“What are you gonna do, make me call?”

“No,” Tyler says, but his tone of voice says otherwise. “I’m gonna hang up, but hang tight, alright?”

“Oka-” Troye blinks at his phone as it beeps the call-ended tone at him. About a minute later, a FaceTime request comes through from Tyler and Troye accepts without a second thought.

“What the fuck do you think yo-” Troye starts to snap but stops when he realizes that it’s a group call. There’s a familiar face looking at him with a expression that’s just a little sad. The square that should be Tyler’s face is blocked out with a piece of paper and the lack of sound from that end suggests that Tyler’s left the room.

“Hi Troye,” Connor waves a little.

“Connor,” Troye gets out after a moment of sheer overwhelmed-ness from seeing his love, his Home.

They sit in a painful silence for a few moments.

“I miss you,” Connor says softly, voice cracking a bit.

Troye doesn’t know how to respond to that. It’s not because he doesn’t miss Connor. It’s just that he still hasn’t really comprehended that he’s actually talking to him.

“I miss you too,” Troye whispers a few moments too late.

“How’s tour been?”

Troye takes the time to actually think about that rather than just using the normal “fine”.

“It’s been hard,” he says honestly. “It’s been really hard, and I miss you.”

“Me too,” Connor says, mouth curling into a sad little smile. Something buzzes his phone offscreen and he glances at it, face falling a little. “I’ve got to go now, but I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

“Bye,” Troye starts, but Connor ends the call before he can finish his sentence. _Call me later today?_

Troye leaves the call and finishes packing. His flight is probably soon, anyways.

-

Connor doesn’t call him that day, or the next, and Troye tries to ignore the sad pang in his chest, but he keeps up his hopes that maybe someday, they’ll work out this whole thing and one day, they won’t have to hide anymore.

 

_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading.  
> leave a comment or kudos if you want :)
> 
>  
> 
> [ come talk to me on tumblr ](http://babylxxrry.tumblr.com)


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